Before wholly becoming leery seaside
crassness as in 'On the Buses', permissive populism could be found
early back in what was lauded as Britian's first radical film wave, the Postwar British Noir. A major component of Postwar British
Noir was the 'angry young man' film, ranging from straightforward
bleak drama (A Kind of Loving, 1962), to bleak fantasy (Billy Liar,
1962), to bleak bleak bleak (The Loneliness of the Long Distance
Runner, 1962). However when looked at more closely and considered
with permissive populism, the content can be much more
retrograde than first appears.
Take A Kind of Loving, which appears
to fit the idea very well. Alan Bates' Vic is a young working
class draughtsman, who falls in love, or believes himself to, with
June Ritchie's Ingrid, a typist at the same factory. Vic's only
concern is to sleep with Ingrid, and over the course of the film he
pressures and coerces her until she finally does so, with long term
disastrous consequences. What appears to be a clear motivator for Vic
is the image rather than substance of Ingrid: he tunes out when she
talks to him, ignores her, generally acts callously. A cheap and
nasty pornographic mag reappears through the film, Vic coveting the
flat images within. The theme echoes a scene in 'Loneliness of the
Long Distance Runner' in which the family is instantly consumed with
the adverts on their newly plugged in television set, image replacing
reality. The film is ambivalent towards permissive populism; casual
sex is the destruction of Vic and Ingrid, leaving them both
permanently damaged. The film, earning it's angry credentials, also
identifies the traditionalism of Vic's working class family as
poisonous, pressuring him to maintain a loveless and destructive
relationship. There is also an interesting strand with Ingrid's
mother, Thora Hird's Mrs Rothwell, a proto-Thatcher, who puts the
blame for society's ills squarely on miners and other workers asking
for and receiving too high wages.
The angry young man genre had a brief
life, though echoes could be found until the late 1960s. The
transition of social realism to sexploitation is really marked by a
small film set in Stevenage, big at the time but forgotten now: Here
We Go Round the Mulberry Bush (1967). Listed to compete at Canne, a
soundtrack by the Spencer Davies Group and Traffic, and an opening
night attended by literally everybody in Swinging London, it was a
true zeitgeist experience. Here the angry young man transitions into
the randy young lad, a sort of Jay from the Inbetweeners a few
decades ahead of time. The film's a curious clash of psychadelic
Sixtiesploitation (the screen goes a funny colour and the camera
wobbles), vaguely recognisable social commentary (Barry Evans' Jamie
McGregor and family are working class, there's some rich people, his
mum reads big books, there's some striking shots of concrete
modernist Stevenage that make it look interesting and European), and
not-even-really softcore sex.
The film carries over trace elements of
the angry young men genre, Jamie's long monologues about his
grievances are very much of the type. Permissive populism is invoked
here as Jamie's grievances are mostly that women aren't having sex
with him. Jamie's gaze wanders over shop assistants, housewives,
church volunteers, strangers in gambling dens (yes, in Stevenage),
hippy types holding a happening in a furniture shop (yes, yes, in
Stevenage). The whole film is very reminiscent of the softcore
British films on the horizon. “I'm capable, I'm capable anywhere!”
croaks future Bond girl Angelar Scoular. Not only is Jamie not having
sex, everybody else he meets is (Denholm Elliot, of a sex-crazy upper
class family, pursuing a yodelling Swedish au pair, comes to mind).
It is only once within hippy permissiveness that Jamie can find any
satisfaction.
The appeal is for those who can't
partake in swinging London or sixties-style swinging due to
geographical and class circumstances. The idealistic view of the film
is of a coming utopia where sex is completely casual, prevented from
developing into anything more sinister by the peace/love elements
that seem to keep the worst tendencies here in check. As would become
apparent however over the years, the permissive culture would become
another item on Mrs Rothwell's list of ailments bringing the country
down from greatness. The sourness and sexism that partly animates
Here We Go Round the Mulberry Bush would become a full dystopia by
the time of the mid 1970s.